Residues

The way he hums, The way he pats my hip And brushes my hair with his fingers To make me sleep, I wonder if he acquired it From someone else, Long ago, When I wasn’t his. These hands that gently touch my face, Surely, had wiped tears From someone else’s face From different times And other days. And he must have learned This way of loving me By loving someone else, Long ago, When he wasn’t mine And I wasn’t his. ©reddragonfly